


Drabbles and Shorts

by CinnamonBunn



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonBunn/pseuds/CinnamonBunn
Summary: I'm just going with this as I go. Purely fan-made piece of work(s) inspired by Tooby Fox's Undertale and the fandom that came out of it.





	1. Chapter 1

They are hard to hit. Just a slip in his attack, a poorly placed spear, and it’d be his head. Literally. He dances out of their way once again; this time he manages to dodge with enough space to lift his arm up and take control of their SOUL. “heh. you’re **blue** now, kid.” His permanent grin falters. What happened to them? They couldn’t have always. . . . Nah. Paps was wrong this time. No one this far in can be saved.

“feeling _bonely_?” he asks as they appear a moment later, their small hand on the golden star. His sockets narrow. “Don’t worry; I’ll make you feel quite _boned.”_ He tries to wink. Instead, as they lift the knife again, the glare catching in the filtered light, his grin falls completely. Tch.

Such DETERMINATION.

“well. . .” he cut his eyes off to the side. “somebody’s gotta cut ya down, dogslice. guess i can’t lay off today, huh?”


	2. The Bar

The idea wasn't to end up on a stage, confessing his feelings through an old and unknown song. The _idea_ was to bond with her. He wanted to hear her sing, and yeah, to swoon her a bit too.

Not that it matters anymore. She's staring at him; he's staring at her. His arm is stretched out to her, frozen on that wooden stage. So then he says the only thing he can come up with.

"what'll it be, honey?"

 

_Maybe I'm too busy being yours to think of somebody new_

_But we could be together, if you wanted to_


	3. Ain't Karma A Bitch

It wasn't right from the beginning. People liked to call it "unhealthy." They told him this—or so they said.

When he caught her, when he saw with his own eyes, he still chose to be blind. At the time, he called it FORGIVENESS. He loved her. Though like all gold diggers, he shouldn't have been so surprised to find out she had long since moved on.

She earned all the bragging rights. She  didn't waste time using them, either. Around town he heard them whispering about all the things he bought her; the length of their relationship; who she left him for. He'd walk into the bar, teeth bared at their rumors. It was one thing for a room to go silent when you walk in because they fear you. It's another thing entirely for all conversations to die because they were talking about you.

When she informed him of her absence, he felt his SOUL shatter. It was the most excruciating feeling in the entire goddamn world. He felt wrecked, maybe even wronged. No, definitely wronged. She didn't understand—no one understood. All he had invested into a future for the two of them. There was going to be a house, far away from this corrupted hellhole. He saw a wedding, a life.

So why is it, when he was finally getting over her—that this happened? He had new plans. Tonight, in fact, he would be going to some party with his younger (though much taller) brother. He was going to enjoy himself, maybe even take a few off somewhere and get screwed.

Instead he was here.

She was clad in a tight fitting dress with a shade of green many of the females have been wearing—some deep shimmering color. She wore dark heels made for a corner hooker. Rogue brought color to her cheeks, and lipstick kept her lips a crimson red. Her hair may have been put up in some intricate style—he isn't sure.

Her lips were twisted downwards. Was she frowning? Crying? Either way, it mattered no more. She was d e a d. Her body had been left on this sidewalk, where someone had been bound to find it.

He bent down, taking his hand out of his pocket to slowly slip the paper from her slack grip. He lifted himself back up. He was shaking so much harder now. Would he even be able to read this paper?

>|<

 

_Dear Sans,_

  
_If     an apology you are after,                             I cannot give to you. I can't                     front of politeness      ask "how are you"        ._

  
_I'm getting out of this town.     the only       with me aside from the  .  is a together hole. I should have sooner._

 

The words were smeared. He looked down at her fingers to see they had ink stains on them. He wonders if it was intentional, or if they just happened to become indecipherable in her struggle—if she even put one up.

But it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. The blood pooled around her legs and small bump at her stomach said more than enough.

<|>

"GET UP YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING PIECE OF SHIT." He was jerked up suddenly by his arm. Any harder, and it certainly would have popped off.

He sort of dangled there, held up completely by the being trying to wake him from the assumed drunken stupor. Head off to the side, completely still, he may have made a very convincing scarecrow; or a more suiting decoration.

"SANS? I SEE YOUR EYES OPEN. GET UP!" Not even wincing at the extremely loud voice, the dangling skeleton kept his mouth shut. The taller sibling scowled. "WHAT? NO SMART COMEBACK??"

After a few moments of not even a twinge of his teeth, the skeleton finally shrugged. It's so slow, the way he does it. He tries lifting his shoulders, tries to open his teeth to give some sardonic pun. But nothing came out. He droppes his shoulders halfway up, unable to handle the sudden pressure on them. Any second now, his younger brother will be throwing him about the bar; he'll be cursing in fury. The boss does not like being ignored.

But what is he supposed to do? She's dead. And with her—

"IS THIS SOME SORT OF LOVE LETTER? A JOKE?" The short skeleton actually blinked in surprise. The alcohol has been doing a great job of dulling his senses, too good actually. He hadn't even felt it when his brother put him back down, or the way he snatched the paper from his hands.

Sans turned away. He wouldn't be able to look at his brother when he finally puts the pieces together. All he would have to do is ask one or two people—and surely he'd know.

Maybe he's a little curious, but not enough to entertain it. No, not really.

His younger brother makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat. Sans tensed, waiting for the blows to land. There was no doubt in his mind Papyrus would flip his shit. His views on the humans have remained negative—if a little naive—and have not improved much since he first encountered them. If he....

"IS THIS THAT GOLD DIGGING WHORE YOU WERE SO OBSESSED WITH?"

He provided no answer. Silence or not, the answer is clear. He reached for the bottle of liquor. He needs more.

"AND SHE'S RUN OFF? THAT BI—"

"she didn't run off anywhere, shithead. she's dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know what I was thinking. But it's done. (and I still like the first half better)


	4. It's A Human Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *poor kid

The kitchen had the scent of meat, cheese, and bread. Walking in, I was unsurprised to see Sans at the stove adding vegetables to his skillet full of meat. He had his back turned to me, totally engrossed in cooking as he usually is; so I sat at one of the bar stools and watched him. After a few minutes, the smell of meat grew stronger as Sans added sauces and seasonings, the sizzling of grease comforting me almost as much as it does Sans. He goes to the oven, a small prideful smile on his face as he looks at how far the tortillas and taco shells have come.

“HUMAN! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?!” The small skeleton asks, and I can imagine a hand to his chest as if I frightened him. A lazy grin graces my lips as I open my eyes a few beats later.

“A while, I think,” I tell him quietly. The hand I had cushioning my chin slips and I straighten my spine in the chair. I look around, the clock telling me that I _have_ been in here for a while. I give Sans a look of apprehension; how could I have been in here so long and he not notice me?

Sans glances around the kitchen. I notice the gloves on his hands and his fiddling with them. “WELL… UM….” He pauses uncharacteristically. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO HELP PREPARE DINNER, HUMAN?”

My head whips around once again to the kitchen clock. 7:57 it reads. “Sans? What do you mean dinner? It’s still morning.” I turn back around in the chair, elbows on the counter as I stare at my friend. His eyes narrow in confusion, mouth shut rather than open to try and explain himself.

We sit in silence, both of us confused. I want to say that I am right. But trying to prove that would seem… rude of me; I know that if anyone would have the right time, would be prompt and prepared for anything—it would be Sans the Skeleton.

“…I WILL RETURN, HUMAN. WAIT HERE, PLEASE!”

I stare after him, trained on his bright blue scarf until he leaves my eyesight around the kitchen counter. Once out of his sight, I slump down in the chair—bar stool, I constantly forget—as if being in the same room as Sans has depleted all my remaining energy.

My heavy eyelids droop. A yawn escapes my lips and I think for maybe the millionth time that _I need to get more sleep._ My conversation with Sans is already forgotten. I try keeping my eyes open, except they seem intent on remaining closed. I have been staying up later and later for weeks until I just… haven’t been sleeping at all. I have been trying to catch up during day with sleeping when no one is around and I have nothing to do most days. But it is still unnerving. The most Z’s I have been lucky to catch this week alone is…. I think sixteen hours.

I pillow my arms under my head as I lay down on the island.

It doesn’t even feel like seconds have passed before someone dropping bags full of stuff on the floor followed by light cursing jolts me awake. I blink wearily up at Papyrus, his smoke already tainting his brother’s good-smelling cooking. For some reason I groan and turn away from the towering skeleton.

I shut my eyes. I try lulling myself back to sleep, however long that was.

I think Papyrus has other plans.

“what’s wrong with you?” he asks. I hear his deep inhales and exhales of the tobacco stick.

“It’s a human thing,” I tell him. Usually when I say this it makes the brothers leave me to myself for a while. Those are the times I am thankful they can hone and control their curiosity; or they just know whatever “human thing” it is I am not in a mood to answer their questions.

This time, Papyrus is either ignoring my blatant hints that I wish not to be bothered or he just doesn’t care…. Which could be one and the same to him? “what kind of human thing?” he asks anyway, still behind me and somewhat inside the kitchen.

I scoff. What is so hard to understand that I am cranky, I am sleep-deprived, and will come very close to stabbing anyone who will not leave me alone.

I sit up and face him. “What do you mean? Everything I do and feel is a _human thing_. I don’t even know why I keep telling you all this! It just happens. What else do you want me to say, huh? That, no matter how hard I try, I will never be like you. I can’t be a monster, I can’t fit in; and when I do leave Snowdin, there will be others still trying to kill me! It’s ridiculous and I thought everyone would give up—but no. I am different. I am human. And—And I just DON’T FIT IN!!”

I fall down into the stool, my throat raw and dry. I look down at my hands almost as if they are just the most magnificent things.

I feel relieved. While that is not everything haunting me, it feels great to let it out on someone else. Even if they didn’t deserve to be yelled at. To be yelled at as if I were accusing them.

I bite my lip in worry. I like Papyrus, I think he’s a great monster as far as they go; but sometimes he is unpredictable. I have not been able to always place why his moods take such serious or somber turns. I’m not even always around when they happen. Yet I am still anxious for his reaction.

As I avoid looking at him at all, the skeleton lets out a long sigh. I smell the smoke he exhales, very close to closing my eyes in content at the intoxicating smell. Instead I try ignoring it and keep my ears alert for every sound in this room, for every sound _he_ makes.

After a while of sitting in silence I begin to mull over my shouted words. They sounded scared, angry, and desperate. I try shaking them off. Anyone would feel this way if they went through what I did.

A warm and heavy object engulfs me suddenly, scattering my thoughts. I startle, jerking my head up to Papyrus who only offers me a soft smile and a pointed look at my shoulders. I touch the object, my thumbs brushing the cottony softness. I have worn this sweater a few times before but…

The bones of a hand appear in front of me, outstretched from Papyrus’s own arm. I stare at it. “how ‘bout you and I go to Grillbz?”

“Why?” I immediately ask. I tighten the orange sweater around me like it could protect me from the outside. I turn my face away.

I feel the grin he gives me, a mix of something unbelievable and kindness. I almost want to get up and walk away from him. After all, I really don’t own him anything. Him, Sans, Asgore, anyone! I learned that a long time ago. I learned that, no matter where I go, what I do in this world, nothing will change; people will still treat me how they see fit. I will still be viewed as a—in short—abomination. Nothing will change. That is what the surface taught me.

But down here everything is totally backwards. A goat-dad guided me through a dangerous ruin; a dog thought I was another dog, puzzles are _everywhere_ ; the trees are taller than any tree I saw on the surface;  two skeletons are letting me live with them as if I were their life-long friend; the snow is always actually snow, but sometimes this warm and weird white fluff. It all leaves me with no way of thinking clearly around these monsters. Locked away and thrown from the surface, I realize they are a lot like me. Correction, they _could_ be a lot like me. Some of them still want to send me to the Queen. The majority of them want me dead for the crime my ancestors put upon them. They feel this way and there is nothing I can do about—no matter how many timelines I have tried to change so they can see _me._

The more I think about it the more I realize I could smack away Papyrus’ hand right now. Give him back his sweater, pack my things, and leave the Underground for good.

I could leave Sans and his cooking behind.

Asgore and his tea times.

The Froggits with no one to talk to; the Royal Guard ready to turn me in; and the Queen prepared to take my SOUL.

But none of that is right and I would rather die a thousand times Underground than return to the real monsters up there. I almost smile. I almost slip my arms into his impossibly and infinitely comfortable sweater; tell him “Sure” and don’t hesitate any longer to take his hand. Later I’d tell him “It felt like the right thing to do” as I answer his unasked question before I fall asleep on his shoulder still wrapped in his sweet smelling orange sweater.

I don’t do any of that. Instead, I shake my head, my eyelids sticking shut for more than a blink. “I’m too tired,” I say right as a yawn bubbles past my lips. I want to go to sleep.

For a long

long

time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I last looked at this. I just re-read it and kind of wondered "Is it Chara I'm writing about here? Or is it Reader. . .?" I don't know, really. But I like this chapter. I hope you do too! 
> 
> (P.S. Where'd Blue go??)


	5. He Talks!

Working with someone addicted to the job, it can certainly be something. He is still there when you leave for the day and there hours before you—miraculously in a change of clothes and not smelling like cleaning supplies. He still attends meetings. He socializes, though not as often as his coworkers do. 

Sans is a mystery to you.

"hey, uh, y/n. do you have copies of yesterday's paper?"

You turn you head up, a little surprised the hermit of the office is talking to you. He's leaving over the wall of your small office, arms on the border. His expression is neutral. "Yeah," you swivel your chair around to retrieve the stack of papers after staring at him. Some people in this office try keeping up with the world news by purchasing multiple newspapers across the country. Only because trying to get any internet or service in the building is like trying to win the lottery. 

"All twenty-six copies." You stand, hefting the heavy papers. For a second, you debate on if you should pass them over the wall, or walk around. In the end, you decide to stretch your muscles—even if it's for a couple seconds.

"heh. thank you, miss lady," Sans says lightly. He takes the stack from you; holding it as if it weighs nothing. Then he surprises you further by giving you a wink before turning his back and walking across the room to his own cubicle.

_I'll be damned. He's a flirt!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans isn't who they think he is. Why's that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An idea I couldn't resist from
> 
> https://utfanfic-promptsuggestions.tumblr.com/  
> (just copy and paste the url if ya wanna see their blog)

People often mistake Sans to have a kind soul. That he really is caring, warm, and even a closet dork on the inside of his skeletal shell.

Why? What about him makes them assume the  _best_  of him when he most definitely is  _none_  of those things.

Yes, the guy is polite. He offers a hand, he may low-key threaten your chance of survival if you say the  _wrong thing_  at the  _wrong time_ to the _wrong person_. None of this is proof that he is a genuinely kind monster, though.

Every day he passes this... human. They look like most humans do; the same in nearly every aspect. Their clothes and hair is nondescript, their expression a perfect facade. They were a model being—the kind of person children looked up to. If you talked to them, shared a room with them every day, you would never be able to guess it.

They were broken, cold, someone may even say soulless. But he knew better. He had seen  **soulless**  before. Their soul sang for him, they were his  ** _soulmate_**. And they were hurting. Cracked and torn so inexplicably bad he stumbled whenever he was around them.

What kind of monster let's his  _ **soulmate**_  suffer that kind of damage; let them continue life believing they are utterly alone?

He sees them every single day on his way to work. The building right next door, in fact. And he didn't even bother with them.

~~Kind.~~

~~_Caring, warm._ ~~

Okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh..... Anybody know how to add a link? 'Cos I'm pretty lost.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twinkle twinkle little star,  
> How I wonder what you are....

It hurts. To breathe. To move. To think. She hears the hard patterning of her heart. Amazingly, it still works; it tells her that she isn't dead. Yet.

She exhales, slumping farther down onto whatever she lies on. It's a little soft. Maybe alotta soft.... Does that....matter?

Sleeping feels right about now.

*

"Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

"a few weeks 's all."

"...Nah....Feels so much longer than that." Tilting her head back, Y/n smiles up at the canopy ceiling. It's nice. Leafy. Green. She settles into the silence. Beside her, standing over her chair, her best friend stands. He stares up at the ceiling too, though his silence seems to be hiding more than he's saying. "Why don't you smile some more? Genuinely?"

Sans starts. "smile? sweetheart—"

"That perma-grin does not count, Sans," she says flatly. Her deadpan expression seals the deal, and the skeleton quirks up a corner of his teeth.

"alright, alright. ya got me there." He smiles. There is no twinkle in his eyes.

Reaching a hand out to him, Y/n is warmed as he met her halfway. She squeezes his hand twice. He presses his digits against the back of her hand. "It's impossible to ask someone to be happy for you," she said softly with her gazes still turned upwards. It would be nice to feel the sun against her skin right now. "But maybe I could ask you to try? There are so many things you love in this world. Keep them. And when you get to the surface—because you will—you will find so much more to hold on to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pshhh... What even is this? This became originally (though not intentionally) similar to a popular AU that people still art from. I began writing it aaaand got this instead. I decided not to continue because this is perfectlyfinewhereitisandIswearI'mgonnapiblishsomePapsstuffsoon


	8. Papy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wipe your eyes after he sets you down. “Anything for you, Papy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was completely inspired by atllas, theworldofnerdness, live4love136, ssskeletonsoffun, and ajleanon5 from Tumblr. They love the idea of a totally mushy Edge. Flirty and all that. This didn't come out with that smoothness, but hey!

Because the Underground is still too dangerous and violent, your skeleton housemates have asked you to stay inside their home. All the time. Every day. They are afraid a monster will kill you on the spot. You are afraid that will happen too, though you find it somewhat hard to imagine when neither Sans or Papyrus tried to kill you when you appeared on their doorstep (besides, they have been the only monsters—other than the ones on TV—to ever see). They were more shocked than anything. Papyrus stared at you endlessly; Sans had an expression on his skull not exactly of horror, but not like fear. You later found out (through his brother) he was just skeptical of humans. The race that trapped monsterkind down here. Though some days you aren’t upset when your partner stays in the house with you, holding you to his side, chattering endlessly—and your favorite—showering you in complete love and adoration.

“WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT, DEAREST?” At the name, he squeezes your hand, which is resting on your side.

“Appearing suddenly at your door?” You guess, picking out the first thing that stands out in your mind.

Papyrus chuckles. He doesn’t say anything about it, and you think nothing of it. As you are right now, you are happy. Content. For the last few hours, it has been just you and him at home; finishing breakfast, playing a couple card games, until finally settling down on the couch and watching MTT. Every now and then one of you would comment on the monster who has the lead role in every single show. Papyrus seemed to be completely captivated by the star, but often enough, he would pull you closer to him or just catch your gaze and smile. Actions like these is what has you in love with the lanky skeleton even more than the minute before. When you two actually first met, he tried to be threatening (which he did succeed in frequently), as well as strong as possible. It may have been off-putting to someone else, but it made you only want to know him better. Thus putting the two of you where you are now. He is forever stubborn, but when it comes to you, this skeleton is like putty.

Stretching your limbs, you stand up. Papyrus gives you a confused look, and you take his gloved hands into your own. “Come on, my dear skelebae. I have something to show you.” Allowing you to pull him up, he makes a slight sound at calling him _skelebae_ , but his cheeks brighten nonetheless.

Holding his hand as he trails behind you, you guide yourselves upstairs. You stop in front of his door, carefully avoiding trash piles made by all parties of the home. You turn to him, a huge grin on your face. “Okay. Now close your eyes.” He complies even as he says that he has no “eyes”.  You smile. “No peeking. Give me maybe a minute once you’re in here and you can open them. ‘K?”

“YES.”

You open the door to his room. Your crafts from the day before are still strung about, and you are happy that no one other than you has come in here. Papyrus’ room is organized and clean, which is a given due to his case of OCD. You don’t mind it, though watching him and his brother argue about a rock or sock left out does become almost painful to witness. As you guide him on a straight path to the center of his room, you once again remind him to keep his sockets closed before your hand leaves his arm. You go around the room to do a final check on everything—the lights, and closing the curtains.

“Open.”

A startled gasp leaves him as he stares at the wall in front of him. Then the ceiling. And the other walls. You beam as the wonder in his eyes grow wider the more he takes in. You stand by the door, rocking on your heels as he admires your handiwork. It didn’t take much to do this: stringing lights across his walls and ceiling. It was a little painful to your arms and back, and took more time than you thought it would, but once you finished… Man. Seeing how much he loves it was worth every second.

Papyrus catches you in his arms, spinning you around the room. Around you, the lights blur and you feel his contagious excitement go through you. He kisses your forehead and cheeks fervently. “Y/N! THIS—THIS IS AMAZING!!”

You wipe your eyes after he sets you down. Your lips stretch into the largest smile you have ever given anyone. He’s so happy, chattering on about the lights, how great the look, how amazing you are. You reach up and give him a kiss on his cheekbone. “Anything for you, Papy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND!!! 
> 
> I got up a chapter with Paps. (I'm so proud of m'self)


	9. I Still Miss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
> 
> “Relaxing your bones.”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“Relaxing your bones.” You begin to try and knead the bones of his shoulders as said. Edge remains still, the papers in his hand crumpled. “Which means you have to actually _relax,_ ” you tease after he doesn’t ease up.

“WELL DON’T  DO THINGS SO SUDDENLY!” he shouts. You can’t see it from behind, but you know he’s blushing. He sounds surprised rather angry but it dampens your mood anyway. You sigh. Okay, so maybe you should have warned him. Edge _is_ a jumpy skeleton. But it’s a nice gesture on your end. He’s been stressed and under more pressure than you’ve ever seen; he doesn’t sleep as he normally would, and you _know_ he hasn’t eaten anything other than the sandwich from two days ago.

“Fine.” Drawing your hands from his shoulder blades, you spin on a heel, done with his stubbornness. Why can’t he just be appreciative more often?

“WAIT!” Edge grabs your wrist. You half-turn around to see him. He’s nearly out of his chair, clearly having lunged the distance to your wrist. You give him a look. He stays silent. Whatever he wants to say, you can't force it out of him, but you still let him know how things are. “It’s okay to be soft. Especially around me,” you step towards him until you're right at the chair. He is almost at eye level to you despite sitting down. “I’m not going to _ever_ hurt you.”

His eyelights widen and his bright blush dims some. He stares into your eyes with a look you can’t exactly decipher. Edge reaches up, his gloved hands gently cupping your cheek. His other hand guides you to his lap, where you stay as he gives you the kiss you have been waiting for all week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, am I a sucker for backrubs. I need one actually.
> 
> Special thanks to, well, EVERYONE who has/is reading this little one-shot collection. I realized that maybe I should put up another drabble since...most of these have been over 100 words.


	10. Sweet Sauce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "whatcha got there?"
> 
> "Hot sauce!"

"heya, honey. whatcha got there."

"Hot sauce!" Papyrus peers over your shoulder. Indeed, you have a bottle of Baby Ray's hot wing sauce. You are pouring it over some chicken, turning them over this way and that to douse it all it hot sauce. Making a sound of surprise, the skeleton leans against the sink behind you.

"dontcha think that'll be a lot for you?"

"Nope!"

"it's a—wait. you've already poured the entire bottle!"

Setting said bottle down beside your bowl of chicken, you nod. "Uh-huh." Stepping down from your personally decorated stool, you give the older one a reprimanding stare. "I may be seven years old, but that doesn't mean I can't handle adult things!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just over 100 words! But eh.  
> (And I just realized the title seems like some sort of ship...l


	11. Chapter 11

As the sun set over the horizon, Y/n felt as if something was slipping through their fingers. They stared out the small window, gripping the white sill lightly. It was just another day. Supposed to come and go, hardly noticed by a certain skeleton who usually was too buried in his work to notice.

Pushing off the sill, Y/n contains a sigh at the though of their boss. The guy works himself down, torturing himself with fanfiction over fanfiction each and every day. The guy needs a break; though he will never take one. It's just who he is. s _omeone's gotta do it_ , he says constantly.

_"But everyone—"_

_"i'm not_ like _everyone, kid."_ Y/n had to hold their tongue that day. The way he said it, so tired and beat up. There was that slight undertone of self-deprication Y/n hated hearing. Though like the fics, it was something they had gotten used to.

It didn't mean they didn't still try. Y/n _is_ his assistant after all. The guy can take breaks. It isn't as if Y/n is going to die if their boss leaves for a day or two. 

"Here's your dinner." Setting the greasy bag on a particularly scarring crossover fanfiction, Y/n pokes Captain's skull. He looks up at them, blinking with bleary lights.  He makes an odd sound. 

"i haven't even—"

"One," Y/n holds up a finger. "It's late. Two, I finished that yesterday. So....Eat. Right now."

Leaning back in his creaky chair, the skeleton rests his fingers on his stomach. He yawns and the bags under his sockets are much more prominent. Other than Y/n's breathing and Captain's slow rocking, the room is silent. They are staring at him, unwavering and serious. 

"...okay. you got me. let's eat some grub." Reaching into the bag, Captain pulls out the salad first. He stares at it. 

"why was the bag greasy if there's healthy food in here?" he asks, hand still dangling over the bag with the salad in his grip. 

Y/n shrugs. A sly smile stretches across their lips. "Gotta eat something healthy every now and again. But don't worry," Walking back to their desk, Y/n turns to point at their boss's work area. "There's some sweets and your favorite heart attack hidden in there. Enjoy, Cap."


	12. Used To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update ;)

"Things could be better, you know."  
  
"..."  
  
"Hey. I-I'm actually trying to talk to you! You know, resolve this without screaming. Or...lack of."  
  
"...."  
  
They make a short sound, the breath leaving them in disbelief and hurt. "It's just some shared honesty, Pap. You speak your mind all the time."  
  
When he doesn't answer at all, they stand. Rubbing their face, they sigh and glance up at the ceiling. It hurts to look anywhere else; the things they created together in this apartment. Everywhere they looked there is a sign, a testament, to some kind of affection. Love. Admiration. A future.  
  
Dropping their eyes to a worn-out spot in the carpet, they let the weight of their words settle. It's something they've been mulling over for weeks now. As much as they hate to admit it. As much as they wish it weren't true.  
  
Papyrus is lost. He's become distant in a way they have never seen. He's reclusive. He doesn't hold them while they sleep. He doesn't wake up them up in the morning to heavenly breakfast. He doesn't "Netflix and chill" which became more of time to joke about shows and make out.  
  
"I'm leaving the keys on the counter. I'll be gone tomorrow.  
  
"Since you don't want me here anymore."


	14. Oh look, a G!Sans one-shot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I wrote this at like... 1am this morning. Idk why but suddenly, I wanted to write—and somehow it was about G! (And I'm not even sure if any of this makes sense but....) I've had a little case of writer's block the past couple of weeks. So hopefully I'll be posting more things soon!!

"Do you get it?" His lights sparkle, still small pinprinks, though nothing short of excitement unable to be be missed within them. He's especially close to your face now, a huge grin on his own.

You push away the urge to roll your eyes and put a little distance between the two of you. He is a adorable right now, staring at you all expectantly. But if your gaze continued to linger on those teeth... "Not at all," you tell him after a long moment. It was a long speech about equilibriums and powers sources; finding a balance between...something and...something else. You think. It got hard it keep up after he started using strange, difficult words. And those teeth, man.

Your skeleton isn't even fazed. In fact, he seems even more excited to explain everything to you again. "Really? I can go over it again if you want—"

"Noooo thank you, hun." Holding up a warding hand, you stare into his sockets as you shake your head. The soft golden glow to them is bright, and more warm than any normal day. "I don't solve mysteries just for the hell of it."

Something about your words, maybe even your tone, darkens his expression. It isn't a furious stare that shrinks his lights even more, or brings a devious grin to his teeth

You recognize his look. Hungry. Teasing. You feel the warmth in your stomach spread and your toes tingle from that look. 

"Oh now darling," he catches you by the waist before you can bolt from his trap. You try in vain to avoid his gaze with full knowledge of what you won't be able to resist if you become intranced by him at this moment.

His voice us husky, sockets half-lidded as he fixes his alluring gaze onto you. "You and I both know how much you love a puzzle."

All you can muster is a small, estranged stammer.

Your knees are jelly and yet he is only holding you up with one arm (which is tightly wrapped around your waist). When he pulls you closer to him yet, your hands instinctively reach up to his chest, palms flat against the wrinkles of his dark shirt. You are dimly aware of your blatant expectantcy. Your lips are parted, shallow breaths coming in and out as your instinct kicks in to breath; your gaze flicking from his teeth, to the pair of smoldering golden light that haven't stopped staring at you.

You break first, reaching up onto the tips of your toes to reach him. G smirks, just a little, before placing a short and lingering kiss on your lips.

Just as you are about to pout (why would he do that to you? Is it really that difficult to give you a kiss when—) you are suddenly swept off your feet and brought to the face eye level as your skeleton. His expression gives nothing away.

"G."

"Hmm?" His sudden attention on your lips is distracting. He knows this—right!?

Somehow, you maintain a steady voice when all you want to do is wrap up in him. "Why am I several feet off the ground?"

For a few seconds, he doesn't respond. When he brings his face closer to yours, you have to fight with yourself to stay still and figure out what he wants. His gaze is nothing meant to be imposing or searching as it flickers over your features, but a feeling akin to being exposed sends ripples of a chill down your spine.

You are about to ask him again, maybe see if he'll set you down (though you'd rather he didn't.) when G finally answers your question.

"To finish where we left off, of course."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Check out my Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/creativebloon) for normal Undertale things with a glob of other junk!


	15. Pocket Full of Hearts

Y/n stared across the street, the rain falling in hard sheets. As she stands under one of the tarps of the store, she feels nothing but amazement. Blatant as she is staring (and possibly like a creep) she can’t tear her eyes away. She has never seen him before today, and she was fairly positive he had never seen her, unless he came across this side of the street the days she worked. Which, a lot of monsters did. And _he_ is a monster. Something that humans are slowly getting used to as a whole. Sure enough, Y/n has seen a few odd monsters—even by their own standards. Though not a skeleton.

As she is gathering the courage to cross the one-way street, a voice appears beside her. “Tryin’ to see when to go, huh?”

She chuckles to hide her surprise. “Yep. But it doesn’t seem like it’s going to let up at all.” She frowns. Should she go ahead and leave? Stay and make conversation? As she glances across the street, squinting to see through the hard rain, Y/n knows she should probably go ahead and approach the monster. It isn’t as hard as she thinks it is, right?

They stare out into the rain for only a couple seconds before the stranger spins on his heel, bid her farewell, and disappears into one of the shops behind him. Y/n only spares him a glance. When she turns her eyes back across the hard sheet of rain, her heart drops. He is no longer there—the skeleton monster.

Y/n clenches her fist tighter. The small chain pokes her skin, sending a wave of unpleasant pain across her body. She stares down at the necklace _._ She pockets the necklace, suddenly tired. She should have just gone over him. Turning around, she decides to just return it to the store she found it in, hoping they have a secure lost and found.


End file.
